


a more promising beginning, more true

by LittleRaven



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: F/M, OR IS IT, Very slight dubcon, porn with character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-02 22:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16795777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/pseuds/LittleRaven
Summary: Ahsoka is having sex in hell.





	a more promising beginning, more true

**Author's Note:**

  * For [outruntheavalanche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/gifts).



> Title from ["A Myth of Devotion"](https://m.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/myth-devotion) by Louise Glück. Summary from a different [poem](https://m.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/persephone-wanderer) quoted in the epigraph, also by Louise Glück.

_My soul_  
_shattered with the strain_  
_of trying to belong to earth—_

_What will you do,_  
_when it is your turn in the field with the god?_  
"Persephone the Wanderer" - Louise Glück.

He’s waiting for her. She’s disappeared on him before—he remembers every time.

The glass of his bacta tank grows cracks. 

This time, she will come to him. It will be the last time. 

In the footage, Ahsoka leaps high, a bird gliding, to her Jedi friends as they take her away. 

He knows when. The Force curls around him, the pulse urging him, forward, now. He lets his Inquisitors go through the formality of telling him her location. His master may know, or he may not; it makes no difference. He has done as he was bade, as far as could be said. The Dark Side calls.

She is there, within reach through her fury, and it is easy. Offers, taunts. It is easy to speak to her, to fight her with the blood pulsing in her body. 

It is she who calls. She has been calling all along, he realizes, a heartbeat so familiar he had mistaken it for his own will. 

It is his heart, and hers, and as he looks up, on his knees, he knows he will not let her rule him again. Her fate is his to seal, and Vader will teach her where the Jedi would not. 

Vader lunges, falls through her trap—his resourceful Ahsoka, he thinks, and he drags her down the hole with him. 

He breaks her fall. He can feel the thud that knocks her unconscious, her head against his own. Blood trickles through the broken glass above his eye. It trickles down into his burnt mouth. He tastes the salt. It’s the first taste he’s had in years. 

He rolls them over, face hovering over hers, as the Temple crumples atop them. 

She doesn’t try to leave. He has carried her, taken her back to his ship, kept her hidden and healed her; she wanders about the empty space, stripped of her armor and lightsabers, as if it is her own. Their own, he thinks, remembering what was before, and she feels it, she is turning to him as he lifts her and pins her to the wall. 

Gentle, but firm. He is the person he wishes her to be comfortable with. He, now. 

She doesn’t fight. He wants her to. He could overpower her, eventually; it would stir up the Dark Side moving inside him, heat it quick as anything. But she does not. She looks at him, and she is sad. 

He is wrong. She does make him angry like this, make him move to defeat her. He in full armor, broken though she has made it, he is the defenseless one. He cannot bear it. He will not. 

He flexes, then clenches, his gloved fist. There is a tear, and her clothes brush her boots on his floor. She stands still, unable, he realizes, through his own shock—unable to move, to cover herself, to pick them up, as he now thinks he expected. 

It is the first time, he reflects later, the first time he has felt the advantage since she had driven him to his knees before her, and certainly the first time he was right to feel it. 

She does not stop him. Her breasts are high; he feels for them through the Force, tweaks the nipples already hardened, feels through their bond—his now at last, his to use as much as hers to pull—her body, her mind with it, the Force crackling as he pulls her to him through the air to feel the nerves stirring under his gloved hands, against his leather and steel, stirring him as well through her trembling. He has not expected it, no more than her, but in her second surrender he is satisfied enough in having taken the initiative. 

He holds her there, atop him as he sits, settles her knees around his thighs and spreads his armored hands over her thighs, her cheeks, parts them and slides between and lets her fall onto him, breasts bouncing—they are free of his hands but not of him as he watches, before meeting her eyes. They are wide, for a moment not seeing, but then she looks at him and she knows he’s watching her. Her hands grip his shoulders as his fuck her, as she rides him, as she comes on his lap. 

He lifts a hand and, taking off his helmet, risking the air, he licks it. Ahsoka sees. She sags against him, thighs collapsing, and slips into unconsciousness. He holds her to him before she falls. 

She rests on his lap. He is metal, holding her, but she rests, and eventually he remembers to put on his mask again, enough to breathe. 

He looks down at her. She is warm. He knows it, as if the suit isn’t there. She is warm, and he can feel the Force moving in her, as he touches her more lightly now, soft over her spine, her neck, the back of her head. He bends towards her montrals, to lay his face down upon them. He has done it before, reverent and full, in that moment, with the hope he had spoken of. 

Here she is, dead and almost dead again, come back to him. 

He cannot hope to turn back to his past now. He does not think he will have a future, that he will live through what he has done and what he must do. This is what there is. But this is more than he knew, and that is enough. She lives, and that is hope enough. She, he, them. 

He waits for her to wake.


End file.
